


Singing in the rain

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I missed this, you know," Basti says, clinking his glass of soda against Metze's, grinning at his best friend.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on June 18th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

"I missed this, you know," Basti says, clinking his glass of soda against Metze's, grinning at his best friend. They're sitting at a somewhat secluded table in the beer garden, a big lime tree spreading cool shadow over them, protecting them from the direct glare of the sun. Some of the other guests have recognized them, but save for a giggling girl asking for their autographs, followed by two boys and an elderly woman claiming that this is a surprise for her son, but blushing quite a bit, they haven't been interrupted too much. Sure, there's the one or other curious glance, sizing them up, and whispers - but Basti doesn't care about that. Not when they've finally got some quiet, and the big couch-chairs in the garden get boring after a while, also because you can hear Schweini and Poldi chattering and laughing all the time, and one's ears tend to hurt after subconsciously listening to the barrage of low Cologne dialect mixed with Schweini's distinct Bavarian tilt.

"Me too, Kehli," Metze says, his eyes crinkling up, and he's looking happy. Which is a very good look on him, definitely. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, it has," Basti agrees, squinting up at the greengold-flecked nature ceiling, interwoven with glaring white tresses of sunlight. "It's a beautiful day."

"Let's enjoy it, then, as much as we can - because there's something bad coming our way," the defender says, nodding towards a dark front approaching rapidly.

"Aw, shite," Basti grumbles, downing half of his glass in a go. "Maybe it'll just go past, what do you think?"

Metze turns and looks at him, a faint smile on his lips. "After all the luck we had on Wednesday, I guess we should be in for a bit of bad luck as well," he says.

"At least it'll be only rain," Basti sighs. "Shall we go back to the car?"

"No hurry here, Basti," his best friend says, "a little water has hurt none. And we're not made out of sugar, are we?"

Basti grins. The sun's disappearing slowly, the light dimming. The first guests are getting up, ready to leave, the metal legs of the chairs scraping on the stone patio. "Would've been interesting yesterday, at that," he says, winking at Metze.

His friend chuckles, a faint blush deepening the slight sunburn. "Well, I'd be lacking a very important appendage now, then."

Basti snickers. "Yeah, and wouldn't that be a pity - not when I've got some definite plans for tonight which involve it very extensively," he says with a lewd wink.

"Quiet, you," but Metze doesn't really mind, now that the place has emptied out pretty much - it's only them and three or four other tables still seated, down at the other end where two sun shades promise a semblance of protection, braving the dark sky overhead. The air has changed, too, smelling of rain and coolness, and Basti shivers a little. It won't be long, then.

"Wet clothes aren't really good for leather seats, you know," he says, arching an eyebrow at Metze.

"Live dangerously for once, Basti," and the glimmer in the brown eyes deepens, turns sensual. "Isn't that what you tell me at least once a day when you're not berating me for getting hurt so often?"

Basti shakes his head, smiling. "Well, put it like that - who can resist?"

Metze chuckles, putting his empty glass of apple spritzer away. "You never could, Basti."

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for danger, that I am," Basti says. "Must be why I'm constantly invading your room at night. It's not the bony knees, that's for sure."

Metze snorts, and Basti knows what he's thinking. Knows what he's _imagining_, even. And the blush only proves it, and just when Basti wants to insinuate something more lewd, following the mood, the first fat raindrop splashes on their table, right in the middle, and then - it's as if God Himself had opened the gates, wrung out the clouds.

Water splatters on the leaves, tinkling and spurting, gradually soaking their hair and their clothes - Basti's white shirt and Metze's dark grey tee, and they're still sitting there, grinning at each other. Metze's long lashes are stuck together, wetly, and he blinks, sending tiny drops sliding down his cheek. It looks as if he's crying.

But he isn't, and the look that they share says it all, clear greyblue meeting warm dark brown. They're now all alone in the garden, the last guests having fled from the hard rain which enshrouds them, blurring the shape of the other trees, the walls and the bar behind which the waiters have disappeared. It's as if they're all alone in this world, weren't it for the faint music still playing, some Eurotrash pop, and the drum of the rain.

Basti doesn't feel cold although his teeth are now clacking, but then Metze's warmwet hand covers his, pulls him up and then they're standing there, their clothes soaked to the skin, outlining Metze's abdomen, the now black fabric bunched up and stretched out.

And then Metze laughs. And Basti joins in, turning his head up, towards the rain and closing his eyes, feeling the thrum of the drops, rivulets running over his cheeks and his throat, and he squeezes Metze's hand.

They don't have to say it.

"Race you!" Basti yells instead, and then they're running, feet splashing through the puddles, through the open gate into the cobblestoned street, left turn, and there's the car, gleaming black, spattered with raindrops like diamonds in the faint light of the shop window next to it.

Metze's fumbling for the key, and then the doors emit a low 'click', the headlights catch millions of raindrops in blinding light. Basti yanks the door open, lets himself fall into the seat and Metze follows suit.

"I think I never was that wet, not even when I'm showering," Basti grumbles good-naturedly, plucking at his previously white shirt which is now practically see-through. It's dark in the car, even more so because of the rain blurring the sight, coloring everything outside an uniform shady grey with green shapes - the hedge and trees on the other side of the road.

A hand lands on his thigh, squeezing slightly. "What do you say to going back to the hotel and taking a warm bath?", Metze says, smiling at him.

Basti smiles and shakes his head. "No," he says, tracing Metze's jawbone, "what do you say to this instead?"

Metze's mouth is cool and hot at the same time, opening under his, inviting him in readily enough, and Basti takes advantage, feeling a fever course through his blood, his hand travelling down, past the pebble of Metze's nipple, scraping it slightly, down, down - and his impatient fingers meet warmwet skin, the tee squelching when he lifts it up, stroking Metze's side.

And then Metze's fingers slide through his wet hair, pulling him closer, and Basti groans into Metze's mouth, hungry with desire, so much that he's shivering, and their teeth scrape against each other. Metze's touch is firing up his skin and he wants more, wants all of it. And then a warm hand slides down _there_, rubbingsqueezing, and it is just what he needs, and yet, his mind is still able to function.

With a gentle shove, he frees himself from Metze's grip, leaning his forehead against Metze's wetmatted strands, breathing heavily. "I know I said live dangerously, Christoph, but that doesn't include doing it in a car."

Metze chuckles, shaky. "Right, yes. I think I don't want to get my knee jammed in again."

"Yes," Basti says, his hand lifting up to stroke Metze's cheek. "Yes, so. Somewhere else?"

"The hotel, then. Yours or mine?" Metze suggests, and Basti feels him smiling.

"Mine, I'm on the ground floor," he says, and with a last kiss, he pulls back into his seat, smiling back at Metze. And when Metze's starting the car, shifting into first gear, Basti extends his hand towards Metze's thigh, letting it rest there. And when Metze doesn't have to shift gears, he covers Basti's hand with his, the fingers interweaving, squeezing slightly.

They _never_ have to say it.


End file.
